


More Than Bones

by runandgo



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Black Parade Era, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Post-Famous Last Words (Music Video)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: Normally Gerard could shrug off characters, easy as changing out of his stage clothes, but this was different. This was ripping themselves open and pinning themselves to the page; this was leaving everything behind, in the dark flickering light over the pounding guitars. And it felt like there was nothing left but the character, snarling bravado and an empty shell inside.Ray helps Gerard come back down to Earth after the Famous Last Words video shoot.
Relationships: Ray Toro/Gerard Way
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	More Than Bones

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first rayrard! i really love their dynamic so much, and i wanted to write a little bit of ray taking care of g, especially because i feel like he would make such a great foil to gerard in the most necessary way at this point in time. they just understand each other on a totally different level, and i think that would translate really well into a relationship. so... voila.
> 
> please don't read this if you're under 18! also, don't post this where anyone mentioned in it might see it, thank you very much.
> 
> title is from the mary oliver poem "to begin with, sweet grass."
> 
> _it's more than bones.  
>  it's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.  
> it's more than the beating of the single heart._

They do this sometimes.

Well. Not _that_ — that they do way more often. But this specifically. 

The fire was fading in the background, sharp woody smell dissipating in the air. There was an inch-thick layer of dust from the set floor covering everything; instruments, heavy woolen outfits, settled on Gerard’s skin, thick enough that it was almost a paste where it had mixed with the sweat at the creases of his skin. He had shaken his head and it puffed out of his hair like a feather duster in a comic book. 

The energy that had burned inside his chest and carried him through the shoot was still there, thrumming beneath his pulse, a second frantic heartbeat, turning arrhythmic as the heat left with the receding flames. Normally Gerard could shrug off characters, easy as changing out of his stage clothes, but this was different. This was ripping themselves open and pinning themselves to the page; this was leaving everything behind, in the dark flickering light over the pounding guitars. And it felt like there was nothing left but the character, snarling bravado and an empty shell inside. 

Bob was going to the hospital, burned red and shiny even though he kept playing. Frank had lunged for Gerard, kicking up dust into the camera, and missed pushing him to the ground by a fraction of an inch. It was dangerous. It was a performance they were all proud of. It shuttered through Gerard’s head like an out-of-body experience. 

He could see his hands shaking but he couldn’t feel them. 

He saw the world in flashes, sort of like being drunk. Everything was happening around him, people moving props, quelling flames, and all he could do was stand there and try to catch his breath. 

Then Ray had put a hand on his shoulder, steering him away, and air flooded into his lungs, almost too cold and fresh in the night. 

Gerard hadn’t let go of Ray through the whole ride back to the hotel, in the dark-windowed SUV, his hand fisted in Ray’s jacket. And for his part, Ray was rubbing into the back of Gerard’s neck, and normally it’d help, but everything was still coming in waves until they got in the hotel room and dropped their bags and then Ray pulled Gerard into a hug, immediately, tight and solid and warm. Now they’re just standing like that, in the middle of the room, Ray’s breathing even and steady, Gerard’s shuddering and hitching in his throat, like it’s getting stuck somewhere in there. 

After a few seconds, Gerard tries to pull away, still antsy like he’s got a low-voltage current running through him, but Ray doesn’t let him go; instead, he holds tighter, even as Gerard struggles and grunts with the effort, until a little bit fight goes out of him and he leans against Ray, gives in just a fraction. 

Then Ray sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Gerard down into his lap and keeps holding him, against his chest. He smells like himself, so much, sharp and tangy with dust and sweat. Gerard can’t get close enough. He’s scrabbling at the back of Ray’s neck, on his soft t-shirt, with his fingers, nails bitten short enough that they don’t scratch. When did Ray take off his jacket? “Ray, I need to, come on, let me --” 

“Gerard,” Ray says quietly. “Calm down.” 

“I _can’t_ ,” Gerard says, and yanks at the fabric again. He can feel the grit of the sand from the shoot in the weave of the cotton. 

“What are you even asking for?” Ray’s hand comes up and cups the base of Gerard’s skull, where his bone-bleached hair is short and soft. 

“I don’t know,” Gerard mumbles, and shakes his head, and tries to climb away. He has this need to move, to do something, to find _something_ that can shut him up, make him stop being so fucking jittery and give him some peace and quiet. The answer used to be so obvious. 

Ray doesn’t let him, just pulls him closer until Gerard’s face is nestled in the crook of his neck. His thumb is rubbing little circles on Gerard’s waist. “Will you slow down?” 

“I’m trying,” Gerard says, and he means to say it with his whole chest, but it comes out a whisper. His lips are dry, and suddenly he’s thirsty. Really thirsty. “I’m trying,” he repeats. 

“I know,” Ray nods. He moves his hand over to the middle of Gerard’s back, and starts to trace patterns on it. His chest is rising and falling against Gerard’s, over and over, in perfect rhythm. 

Second by second, Gerard can feel his heartbeat slowing, and after some time -- he’s not really sure how long -- he closes his eyes and lets himself sag into Ray’s arms. “Okay,” Ray murmurs, right next to his ear, softly enough that anyone else in the room wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Okay, Gee.” 

They just sit like that for a moment. Like in half time, Ray reaches up and works Gerard’s jacket off and tosses it on the floor, and then his arms are bare in the hotel air-conditioning, cold over the drying sweat on his skin. Gerard almost wants to complain but before he can, Ray’s rubbing his palms over his biceps, warming him up, friction and his own body heat leaching into Gerard. Their breath is mingling in the space between them, onto each other’s skin, sharing even the air. 

This is what they do. Ray knows Gerard, knows what makes him tick and knows how to calm him down, and sometimes he’s the only one who can. 

Inch by inch, they move backwards on the bed, till Ray’s backed up against the headboard. He turns Gerard so his head is tucked under Ray’s chin, and it feels good to sit like this. It feels safe to have arms around him. Normally that revelation would make him feel a little prickle of embarrassment, right at the back of his neck, but he’s so tired he can’t even make himself care. 

“You okay?” Ray asks quietly, from behind Gerard. His voice is creaking in his chest. It’s been a long day. 

Gerard nods and reaches for the bottle of water on the bedside table. On any other day, Ray would probably scoff at how they’re gonna charge five bucks for what you can get at a gas station for 99 cents. He doesn’t say anything now. He doesn’t move his arm from around Gerard, either, and when Gerard wipes the water off his chin with a shaky hand and turns around to look at him, his face is set and serious. “Are _you_ okay?” Gerard asks. His voice is just as raw, and it hurts to speak now, after his throat was silent for a while. 

“You scared me,” Ray says, almost a whisper. “For a second there. You scared me.” 

“I wasn’t -- it was just a character,” Gerard says, unsure. He doesn’t like the thought of Ray being afraid of him, always thought Ray could see past the makeup and whatever other weird thing Gerard was doing to the underbelly of it that was still him. 

Ray shakes his head and leans his temple against Gerard’s, just the shortest touch, then draws back. “Not of you. _For_ you. You just…” Ray shrugs, a surprisingly small gesture for someone usually so animated. “It was like I could see you inside, you know? All small, kind of -- I mean you’re never _small_ , but -- hidden. And you couldn’t get out.” 

Gerard doesn’t even know how to respond. It’s not exactly surprising after all this time that Ray knows him so well, enough to describe exactly what he had been feeling, but it still sort of knocks him right in the chest sometimes, as if it were a physical strike, to remember it. Especially when he feels so far away. 

“You look more like yourself now,” Ray says, and laughs a little as he reaches up to pet through Gerard’s hair. “I’m still not used to this. But like, I don’t know, as long as I can see you in your eyes I know --” 

And Gerard doesn’t even let him finish before he’s struggling on the soft mattress up onto his knees and kissing Ray, both hands on his jaw, his mouth open. It’s as much as he can pour of himself into a kiss without bruising the other person, he thinks, and it takes a beat before Ray’s slack and surprised mouth catches up, but then he’s kissing back, capturing Gerard’s lips with his own and keeping him steady, just a hand on the back of his elbow. 

When they break apart, they’re both breathing raggedly. God, Gerard loves how Ray looks when he’s just been kissed, his face so open and earnest that it could break your heart. He gets caught off guard every time that Gerard kisses him. As if they didn’t know and love each other every other way that mattered. As if it was so shocking that the way he knew Gerard and cared about him would bring reciprocation in kind. 

“Gerard,” Ray says. He touches Gerard’s face, rubs some dirt off his cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re really okay?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and means it. Then Ray’s the one who presses their lips together, who draws Gerard closer until their bodies are pressed together, the thick shiny weave of the uniform pants sliding on the plasticky hotel bedspread and leaving trails of dust. 

Neither of them really care enough to stop it, though, touching each other with hands that have finally gone still. When Gerard pulls the hem of Ray’s t-shirt out of the waistband of his pants, Ray leans back and lets him do it. The only indication that he feels Gerard’s hand on his stomach, his chest, rucking the fabric up, is the way his muscles tense under the touch. 

“Ray,” Gerard breathes. With his other hand, he undoes the buttons at the top of Ray’s uniform pants, and then he pulls the shirt free totally and he can finally put his hands on him, all over, the broadness of his chest, trace over the still-relatively-fresh letters on his arm. It’s such a human instinct to touch the people you love, and with every burst of contact between them Gerard feels more and more like himself. He’s practically rubbing himself on Ray like a cat, but there seem to be no complaints to that; Ray is leaning into every touch, warm beneath them, pliant and careful. 

“Hey, wait a second.” Ray’s hand flies out and closes lightly around Gerard’s wrist. “Don’t…” He furrows his brow for a second, trying to decide what to say. “Come here,” he decides, and lets go to pull Gerard’s own shirt off. He pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses Gerard, then, until he’s breathless and nearly dizzy, and he hasn’t even noticed that Ray’s worked his pants down to around his hips. “Can I --” He starts, still right up against Gerard’s face, his lips swollen enough from kissing that Gerard can feel them warm on his skin. 

“Yes, yeah, whatever you want,” Gerard says, and the smile Ray breaks into is almost as good as the feeling of his fingers dipping under Gerard’s waistband. “Just -- gimme a second, okay, I gotta take my shoes off.” He scrambles to the end of the bed and the glimpse of Ray, stretched out against the bedcovers, a little sweaty and disheveled and so fucking gorgeous, makes him wish he had gotten boots with zippers. As it is, he undoes them enough that he can kick them off onto the floor, then crawls back up. It’s totally graceless but it doesn’t even matter, because Ray’s finally touching him, wrapping a hand around him with his underwear shoved down just enough to make room. Gerard lets his mouth fall open and gasps, presses his head against Ray’s neck. It’s such a contrast to the feelings of fatigue and soreness and exhaustion that his body wants to cry out in relief. 

With small, easy touches, Ray guides them until they’ve flipped over, Gerard laying with his back on the pillows, Ray hovering over him, jacking him off slow, building the liquid heat in Gerard’s stomach. He kisses Gerard, closed-mouth and brief, before moving away, the touch giving way to a rush of cold air. With anyone else, Gerard might try to crane his neck and see what they were doing, but this is Ray, so he just settles back and tries to be patient as Ray works off the rest of Gerard’s clothes, freeing his legs from where his pants had been half-pulled-down and tangled. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take very long before there’s a kiss to the inside of his thigh, right at the spot where the skin is thinnest that makes him shiver, more of a notification than anything else, Ray saying _Hi, I’m here_ to Gerard without having to speak. He pauses for a few beats -- Gerard can imagine him counting inside his head -- and then Gerard’s enveloped in the wet heat of his mouth. 

Ray’s always been coordinated when he concentrates, and now isn’t an exception. He keeps a hand moving at the base of Gerard’s cock while he blows him, enough stimulation that Gerard can’t do much but moan and flail his hands around, grabbing at the covers and the pillows, covering his own face, skating down his chest to hover over Ray’s hair. His legs come up and then back down until they’re thrown over Ray’s shoulders. Sometimes Ray likes to hold him down by the hips while he sucks him off, but tonight Gerard is more than willing to try and stay still on his own, and it’s obviously the right decision, because when Ray pulls off to take a breath, he doesn’t waste any time, nudging Gerard’s legs apart with a hand. 

Since he’s closer, Gerard reaches into the nightstand and grabs the lube, then tosses it downwards. Maybe it’s kind of weird to compare sex to songwriting, but this is how they work together; they know their rhythms, know what the other needs, and they can keep it going for hours on end. 

Ray slides a finger slickly into him, working him open, and Gerard catches his breath and spreads his legs, letting his eyes flutter closed. It’s a nice break from the overwhelming sensations, and he starts to tilt his hips into the touch before long, when Ray adds another finger, pushing down onto it. “Ray,” he hitches out, “come on.” 

He hums, then dips back down and sucks on the head of Gerard’s cock for a second, treading the line of pleasure and desperation. Gerard’s toes curl and he digs his heels into Ray’s back without even really meaning to. “I need to, Ray, I -- shit, I need you,” he says, can hear his own voice straining under the weight of it. 

Those are the magic words, and Ray comes up for air again, this time working the zipper of his own pants free. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “I’m here, Gee,” and bends down for a second to pull a condom out of the end of his bag before stepping out of his remaining clothes and getting back on the bed. 

“Lemme do it.” Gerard takes the condom from Ray and rips it open, then licks his palm and takes his sweet time rolling it on, just so he can watch the way Ray goes taut with tension like a string about to snap. He likes attention and orgasms as much as the next guy (maybe even a little more, if he’s being honest), but sometimes touching Ray makes him feel better than anything else. It’s the trust it takes for Ray to show himself like this to Gerard. He’s not like this with just anybody. 

Then again, Gerard isn’t, either. 

Once the condom is fully on, Ray moves between Gerard’s knees, opens him up wide so he can nestle between them, and presses his lips to his forehead before pushing in. He never goes too fast, but he’s always smooth, and when he bottoms out, Gerard can feel it all the way to the tips of his fucking fingers. He rocks back a little against Ray’s hips and turns his head to kiss the side of Ray’s wrist where his hand is planted in the pillow beside him. 

Ray draws out a little, then moves back in, repeating that a few times until he’s got a steady pace set. He’s so warm and solid above Gerard, it’s like being surrounded by him, and Gerard can tell from the way that his hips twitch in response to every thrust from Ray that he’s not going to last very long. Stretching upwards, he manages to meet Ray in the middle and kiss him, long and languid, like they have all the time in the world, like everything’s been set back to normal again. More normal than it has been in a long time. Maybe it has been; maybe it really is that easy. 

Gerard reaches down and curls his hand around himself, and the next time Ray moves into him, it pushes his cock up into his own hand, slick with spit and pre-come. He sucks in a shuddering breath and bites down on his lip at the feeling, almost painfully good, every part of him tight and burning. No point in resisting it; he probably couldn’t even if he tried. 

Ray sinks deep into him and holds himself there for a few seconds, tense and trembling with the effort. “S’okay, Gerard, come here,” he says, and puts a hand under his hips, tilts them upwards. He brushes against Gerard’s prostate; Gerard sees an explosion of stars and then he’s coming, his orgasm washing over him in an ebbing tide. 

Ray’s hips move against Gerard’s ass like he’s trying to get even closer, once, twice, little unconscious snapping movements, before he comes, too, his mouth hanging open, a few strands of hair stuck to his face with sweat, so beautiful. Gerard’s struck with the crazy urge to draw him, so instead he takes a mental picture and commits every single line he can to memory. The fluorescent golden hotel lighting throwing half of Ray’s face into shadow. The flush all over his face. The marks on his shoulders from where Gerard dug his fingers in, ten little white fingerprint dots. 

It’s just this side of painful when he pulls out, and Gerard hisses and tenses his thighs till it’s over. Grabbing the backs of his legs, Ray eases them off his shoulders, then gets rid of the condom before sliding back into bed next to Gerard. He lifts up the sheets, and Gerard goes under willingly, the fabric cool and smooth on his skin, Ray radiating warmth a few inches away. When they’re both situated, Gerard moves over and presses their shoulders together, lets his head fall until his white-blonde hair brushes against Ray’s neck, making him laugh high in his voice and shy away from the tickling sensation. He really wants a cigarette right now, but he wants even more to sit here, just in the hotel bed, a little sleepy from the sex and feeling newly alive, vulnerable in a good way. “Thanks for bringing me back to, you know, the world of the living,” he says, and gnaws on the inside of his lip. 

“Yeah, of course,” Ray says, but then he turns to look at Gerard, and the smile he gives, though it’s not big, is so unguarded and honest that the sadness there shines through too, if Gerard really looks. “Feeling weird doesn’t make you dead, Gee, you know?” 

“I know,” Gerard says automatically, and frowns. 

“I don’t know, it’s just -- I feel like sometimes you psych yourself out. If you don’t talk to anyone about this shit, then you just get so fuckin’... inside your own head.” Ray pauses for a second, and Gerard takes one of his hands in both of his, rests his chin on his shoulder, waits. After a moment, he continues, hunching over, bracing to speak. “Like at the Paramour. You built up this whole world to live in, you forgot the rest of us existed. And you were lonely.” 

Gerard looks down until he can feel his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. “I thought that it’d just be easier if I kept it all inside, you know? I didn’t know how to make you understand yet.” 

“We don’t have to understand to listen, and to just _talk_ to you.” Beneath the covers, Ray turns Gerard’s hands over and pulls his own out from between them, tracing patterns over the surface of his palms. “We can help without having to know everything. And we want to help.” 

There’s something about the way Ray says stuff like that, like it’s the simplest truth in the world, when really, it’s something that means so much to Gerard that he wants to grab it and write it into a journal with enough force to break a pencil. He’d been so concerned with expressing himself perfectly that he’d kind of forgotten that the very act of expression itself was the point. And if he couldn’t be honest with his fucking band -- with Frank, with Mikey, with _Ray_ \-- then who did he even have? 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, which is the lamest response ever, but it’s all he can manage, and he kisses Ray’s shoulder so hard his nose presses into the flesh, a way to cover up how that statement sucked the breath right out of him. 

The cool of the hotel room is settling in, and Gerard can feel himself falling asleep, the tenseness of his body from the long day and the stress melting off of him and being soaked up as if the mattress were a sponge. Beside him, Ray’s breathing is evening out like he might be dropping off too. It takes a second, but something flashes in Gerard’s brain when he turns his head to look at Ray, and he struggles out of his stupor to tap him on the shoulder. “Hey.” 

“Hm?” Ray mumbles, shaking his head and blinking over at Gerard. 

“I’d never forget you,” Gerard says fiercely, leveling his gaze at Ray. His voice wavers a little bit, but when he leans in to kiss him, he meets Ray’s mouth solidly, and the answering kiss from Ray is every bit as strong. “Doesn’t matter what the fuck else I’m doing, okay?” 

Ray’s smile is slow to take over, but wide enough that it splits his face in half, wide enough that Gerard can only kiss his top lip at first, then across his face, along the apple of his cheek, until Ray pulls him into a hug. “Love you,” he says, right next to Gerard’s ear. 

“You too,” Gerard says back. He means it in every way, as much as he’s ever meant anything before. And even when they break apart, when they start to actually fall into sleep, Gerard doesn’t let go of Ray’s hands, and Ray doesn’t pull away, either. 

That point of contact is the last thing he can feel before half-formed dreams take over; a reminder of the world outside his own thoughts. A lifeline in the palm of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it, especially since i'm new to writing this pairing. i know it's just a little thing but i'm trying to stress out less about what i write and just put things out there, so here we go! it really was so sweet to write <3 if you did like it, please consider leaving me kudos or a comment -- they make my day! as always, i'm on tumblr [@bringmoreknives](https://bringmoreknives.tumblr.com) \-- plus i'm now on twitter as well [@heavenhelpsus](https://twitter.com/heavenhelpsus) \-- and i'm always up to chat!


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